good mornings throughout the travel
[ID: Two comics of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun Maximum. The second is underneath the read more.
The first is in four panels and follows Vash and Wolfwood through hotel rooms. First, Vash and Wolfwood exit adjacent rooms, and Wolfwood has sparkles floating around him as he exclaims, “Rise and shine! Ready to go?” Vash frowns, displeased, and says, Urk— Good morning to you too.”
Next, they’re in a room with two beds. Wolfwood is awake and fully dressed. He’s sitting on the bed and smoking, back turned away from the viewer and he says, “Wake up already, sleepyhead.” Vash sits up with his eyes still closed and yawns before saying good morning. After that, they’re sharing a bed, and Wolfwood gets up and says, “Morning, sunshine. Time to get up.” His body shadows Vash from the sunlight. Vash is still lying down with a blanket draped over him as he mumbles good morning.
Finally, they’re embracing in bed, both shirtless. Sunlight shines on them, but their contact allows their shadows to drape over their faces. Vash smiles, kisses the top of Wolfwood’s head, and says, “Good morning, Wolfwood.” Wolfwood sleepily says, “Mph, g’morning, needle-noggin’,” snuggling into on Vash’s shoulder. End ID] ID CREDIT
TRIMAX Vol. 10 Spoilers under read more // bonus comic
[ID: The bonus comic starts with Vash asleep in bed, fully clothed with his hair half-black. Someone says “Good morning,” and Vash says, “Morning, Wolf—w...” He trails off as Livio, holding a plate of food, stares with abject shock.
Livio says, “I’m sorry.” Vash, smiling but sweating, says, “No, it’s my bad...” Livio repeats, “I’m sorry.” Vash says, “Geez, stop apologizing,” and cuts off Livio’s “I—” with a “Good morning, Livio.” Livio quietly mumbles, “... Good morning...”
Vash sits up from the couch he was sleeping on and looks down, thinking, “... That’s right. I won’t wake up to you anymore... I have to get used to that...” End ID]
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punk!soap metalhead!ghost brain blast!!!
ghost trying so hard to get soap out of the bad parts of the scene bc he's starting to get pulled in by the shadows, a group of wannabe anarchists that stand for nothing except themselves, but soap loses his shit; laying into ghost for daring to try and "save" him
no one's ever been there for him when he needed them; no one ever offered him support or a soft place to land, why the hell would he want ghost's help when he's perfectly fine on his own? (when he’s always had to be?)
"you think i can't make my own decisions? well fuck you, ghost, who needs a washed up piece o’ shite like you!"
he doesn’t talk to ghost for days, doesn’t let himself acknowledge the hole he’s left behind until he's getting pissed with the shadows one night in an abandoned house and graves starts waving around the gun he snuck through customs and it accidentally goes off, grazing soap's temple
he's never heard anything so loud, even at all the shows he’s attended and there’s so much blood; it's getting in his eyes, running down his neck and soaking into his clothes and he’s frozen. graves and all his shadows bolt after hearing the gunshot, worried about cops finding them and they leave him there; staring at the growing puddle at his feet
soap's panicking; half-blind, blistering pain lighting up his head and he can't think about anything beyond how much he wants ghost
ghost's been sulking at his flat since soap blew him off; pissed at soap for going off on him when he just wants to help but still worried about the punk. he doesn’t want him going down the same road as him; doesn’t want him to repeat his mistakes when he could save himself so much suffering and he almost doesn't answer his phone when it buzzes on the couch
he lets out a ragged sigh as he picks it up; raking a hand over his shaved head when he sees the bubble emoji and contemplates letting it ring out. contemplates answering with a growl; something a younger, crueler version of him would spit. in the end, he decides on silence and puts the phone to his ear just before it can stop ringing
he almost breaks it when he hears soap choke out, "i've been shot."
he's out the door in a heartbeat, running down the stairs because the lift is too slow; trying to get more information out of him but he can't get anything out beyond a repeated, "i've been shot."
he breaks every law there is as he speeds to soap's location; visions of his cold, bloodless corpse staining his mind's eye. the only thing keeping him calm are the strangled breaths from the other end of the line; he's not dead, he can work with not dead, this isn't tommy, soap won't end up like tommy-
ghost screeches to a halt outside a random alley and throws himself from the car when he sees soap collapsed against a garbage bin. he's covered in blood, soaked, just like that night, it's everywhere and he's not moving, he's not moving-
“johnny!”
he skids to his knees and fits his hand under his chin to check his pulse… but his heart beats strong under his fingertips and soap's eyes flutter open; flooded with blood but conscious and alive
the second he registers ghost in front of him, he’s reaching out for him; babbling apologies over and over, "you were right, i'm sorry ghost, i should've listened; i'm sorry, i'm so sorry."
ghost just gently hushes him, cupping his face heedless of the blood. "that doesn't matter now, johnny. we're gonna get you all fixed up, yeah?"
soap’s hands fist in his shirt, clinging to him. "i got shot, ghost," he says again; lost and smaller than he's ever heard from his punk and it's been years since he's felt this kind of rage but he doesn't let a drop of it touch his voice
“i know, lad. i know. gonna let me take a look at it? make it right?"
soap finally nods, his stuttering apologies coming to a halt and ghost runs back to his car to get a towel. he presses it to soap's skin, trying to soak up as much as he can so he can get a proper look; cooing assurances as soap absently hisses in pain the closer he gets to it
it's only a graze and something in his chest unravels; old fears and grief settling as the shallow wound continues to gush into the towel
ghost slumps, pressing his forehead into the top of soap's head and takes a second to just breathe. “‘s’alright, johnny; it’s not even that bad, not even that bad,” he promises, low; spoken more to himself than soap
his hand starts to grow damp and he forces himself to his feet, gathering up soap and getting him into his car. he puts the towel in his hand and presses it against the wound, trying to coax him through his shock to put pressure on it so he can drive
soap curls up in the passenger seat; eyes distant, seeing nothing and ghost has to tighten his grip on the steering wheel so he doesn't turn around
soap is the priority
he has to get him home; has to get him cleaned up and safe
then he can go hunting for the gutless shadow that hurt his punk
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Ford comes out of the Portal bony and tired and dehydrated. He’s strong and tough and every part of him is ready to fight but he’s not healthy, he’s just surviving.
He starts to properly gain weight after Weirdmageddon, when he’s finally done running and he can start convincing himself to relax. Stan drags him away from his work when he goes too long without a break, buys little snacks with a long shelf-life for Ford to squirrel away in the house or on their boat, lets him hide guns alongside the bats that Stan has scattered around just in case.
Food and water stops being a commodity, something to be hoarded and rationed and planned around. He doesn’t have to stay aware of his surroundings even when he’s asleep because little noises in the night are no longer threats, they’re just his brother moving around and cursing when he stubs his toe in the dark. Hypervigilance slowly fades into the background, only emerging on bad days when he needs the comfortable weight of a weapon and food on his person at all times, and even those bad days become less and less common as time goes on and no threat appears.
---
Ford isn’t surviving now. He’s living. He has soft edges and smiles and no bags under his eyes, he has his family, his brother, and really that’s all he ever needed.
He’s happy.
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Wrecker would sit and listen to one of Techs rants about some science stuff. He’d be lying down on his bunk, fidgeting with something probably, and Tech would seem a little antsy on his own bunk. Tech’s lips would be set in a thin line, like he was eager to say something. Wrecker, being bored and not really being able to do anything at the moment, would ask Tech what’s up. Tech would practically explode with information, talking fast and gesturing excitedly at the opportunity to share some of his fun facts about the universe. Wrecker would be taken off guard for a moment, then would smile and listen. He wouldn’t understand most of it, and probably wouldn’t really be that interested in it, but he would listen. At some point he’d start getting into it too, asking questions. Tech would seem more and more excited each time he asked something, though sometimes he’d get exasperated depending on the question. Nevertheless, he would still answer it, then move on to the next fact he felt like he needed to share. Eventually, Tech would start to calm down, having gotten what he felt like he needed to off his chest. He would clear his throat, mutter a small “thank you for listening,” then try to move on with his day. He would feel a little guilty for bothering Wrecker with all of that, he knew his brother didn’t understand half of it, and was likely bored out of his mind by it. But before he could beat himself up about it anymore, Wrecker would get up from his bunk, then give his brother one his famous secure hugs. Tech would flinch, surprised by the sudden contact, then lean into it and hug wrecker back. Wrecker would laugh in his booming voice and say something along the lines that even if he didn’t understand what all tech says, he would always listen when he needed it.
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[random drabble to get you through the day]
“I was able to hack her stuff pretty easily.”
“That didn’t take long.”
Riley sends Mac a look. “I’m sorry, have we met? Riley Davis, hacker extraordinaire.”
Rolling his eyes, Mac replies, “You know what I mean. What’d you find?”
“The usual. For a double or triple or quadruple—or whatever type of agent she is—Nikki doesn’t encrypt her files as much as she should. I’ve already sent the juicy stuff to Patty.”
“Nice.” Giving a nod, Mac pulls a spare wheeled chair toward Riley’s desk and sits down. “What’re you doing now, then?”
“Oh, just having some fun.”
“Should I ask?”
“Probably not, but I’ll tell you anyway.”
With a poorly contained smile, Mac says, “Go for it.”
“After getting the goods out of her laptop, I hacked into her phone. Weakest wifi password in the history of ever, by the way.”
“Noted.”
“And she’s been listening to Spotify for the past three or so hours, so if I were to guess, she’s probably doing some other task while listening to music in the background.”
Mac gives another nod, still not exactly sure where this is going.
“So, like I said, I decided to have a little fun, and I wrote up some quick code this morning before you and Jack got here.”
“Code for what?”
“Basically,” Riley starts, “I made it so randomly in the middle of her songs, Spotify will pause itself.”
“Is that… it?”
“Yep.”
“Riley, what the fuck?”
Turning her head away from the monitor, she looks at Mac. “What, I can’t have some fun? When I wasn’t doing hacktivist stuff, this is basically all I’d do.”
A stuttered laugh escapes Mac before he can stop it. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this side of you.”
“She’s been dormant for a while,” Riley confirms, “but I think it’s time I bring that part of me back.”
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